


[FILE]: Known Unknowns.

by hauntedmusings



Category: Changeling: The Lost, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Loss of Identity, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Mind Control, Psychological Horror, Reality Warping, Trauma, eldritch horror, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedmusings/pseuds/hauntedmusings
Summary: A collection of audio transcripts from different changelings, as they struggle to describe the abstract and alien natures their Keepers. To be updated as the collection grows.Chapters in this series can be read as standalone pieces.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	1. The Firmament, + Introduction

_ “There are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns—the ones we don't know we don't know.” _

_ This document is an attempt to compile information on the entities of Arcadia. It contains firsthand accounts of encounters with the immortal beings known sometimes as the Others, Gentry, Old Gods, Kindly Folk or, to put it simply- the Fae. There is a distinct possibility that the information enclosed can qualify as an  _ **_infohazard_ ** _. While it is not a proven fact whether knowledge of the fae is inherently poisonous, we  _ **_strongly_ ** _ advise you consult with mental health personnel before, and after handling this document. _

_ These are first hand descriptions, and have not been altered. These descriptions have been compiled with the intention of tracing out the shapes of the True Fae, no matter how difficult to rationalize they are. They may be difficult, but, despite the common opinion, not impossible. It is the position that our organization takes that the ceiling of human- or changeling- understanding can be advanced, and that all that is unknowable can one day be known. _

_ We are dealing with many levels of unknown here. The only way to start understanding, is to start knowing. _

_ True names have been redacted for the safety of the participants. _

* * *

**“The Firmament”**

_ Testimony given freely by a fairest going by P _ _ ███ _ _. Entity described is not tied to any known location, and is perhaps a location herself. _

_ Audio transcript begins. _

“If you asked me to draw her, I think I’d run out of paper… Also, the color blue? Or maybe black. Or maybe white? I don’t know. I think about color a lot, these days. There’s so much contained in color that we don’t understand- why do you think Red is so angry, anyway? Who hurt her? Who burned her in such a way, that she exists in every fire at once? Sorry, that has nothing to do with the question, does it? That’s the problem, though. I- I don’t think I could draw you a face of The Firmament. She doesn’t have one, she’s too-  _ beautiful _ for that. I sort of think that you could get a good idea of what she looks like, if you trapped yourself in a sphere of seamless mirrors- and also, if you didn’t exist. Then, the light could just pass through you, untainted by the ghastly human form- and that’s what she is. The Firmament. She is just light, refracted, forever, and ever, and ever…”

_ Subject now becomes unresponsive. Notes show xe is now staring out the window, multiple eyes fluttering. The tape shuts off, and resumes when subject is talking again. _

“-And thats why I keep coming to the color black to describe her? Even though- when I picture her, it’s just brightness. Blinding,  _ glorious _ brightness- but it’s the sort of brightness that happens to be all the colors at once. It isn’t an empty brightness, like the color white. It’s-  _ full _ . Saturated. It’s alive, it’s layered in a cosmos of living color and infinite spectacle and you could zoom in on it and understand  _ everything,  _ feel  _ every color _ . There’s more colors than you can see with the human eye. I know it, because she showed me them. She showed me the ennui of Ultraviolet, the sonder of Gamma rays. I  _ danced  _ with the shades of radio waves. The visual spectrum is so small, and- that’s why it’s so hard to describe her? People can only see a slice of what she is.

The truth of the matter is, there isn’t enough blue in the  _ sky _ for her. Which is strange, because I think the sky is our best chance at understanding her? I was looking at the sky when she called out to me. The clouds parted, and I looked up, and- upwards stopped feeling like a direction at some point? It just  _ was. _ I was only technically falling, but it actually felt like I was being lifted up- it felt like something was  _ guiding  _ me, ever so gently into the maw of the universe. The horizon opened up to me, expanding inside my eyes and inside my mind until the world dissolved away and I dissolved away and the  _ Sun  _ held her arms out to me, cupped me in her celestial grace, and- 

And she said the strangest thing to me- Do you know what she said?

‘Be not afraid’,

And- I wasn’t! I couldn’t be! Suddenly, this harmonious calm washed over me- she entered my body through my eyes and connected to my mind and to my soul, and just as I know that red is  _ angry  _ and blue is  _ sad _ I  _ knew,  _ I simply  _ knew, _ I  _ knew  _ the color and the emotion that  _ The Firmament _ was and I  _ welcomed  _ her to consume me. Blue isn’t just sad on it’s own, blue is sad because we look at it and we remember our own despair- witnessing  _ The Firmament  _ was like unlocking a homesickness I hadn’t known I had had, for another universe I had forgotten. I know understand what stardust feels for the light it once shed.

It was- she was-  _ beautiful.  _

Simply  _ everything  _ at once, every sublime emotion I had never thought possible. Two eyes weren’t enough. Celestial bodies are described as having wheels of them- that might have been me, if I stayed. I wish it was.

I still go looking into the sky for her sometimes, looking for holes to fall into. I wish she would take me back. It feels so- so  _ disgusting  _ to have flesh once more. I can feel my blood crawling through my veins and it infuriates me, because I am supposed to be light, I am  _ supposed _ to be purity. I think she would find me abhorrent right now, living down among the dirt. I don’t know how you all do it.”


	2. The Puppet Doctor

**“The Puppet Doctor”**

_Testimony given with some hesitation, by a wizened going by X_ _███_ _. Entity described as being an inhabitant of a location on file as “The Hospital”._

_Audio transcript begins._

“I called him the ‘Puppet Doctor’, but- not because I thought he was being controlled by anything? Although, I guess that’s always possible… No, it started that way because I- because his _feet_ never touched the ground, you see. It was the way he moved, like every limb was a frozen contortion of it’s own. It- I remember thinking there was something almost elegant and effortless about it, but- it also meant you couldn’t hear his footsteps. You’d turn around, and he’d... just be there. Smile as sharp as a syringe and leaking, too.

But- after a while, I started to think there was more truth to the name- like, that’s how he saw _us?_ Here’s another weird thing about the hospital- I’m… only half-sure what counted as _alive_ over there. It was like peeling back plastic and finding red meat. It was like cracking open machine panels and watching entrails spill out between ribcages. Everything- _breathed,_ in a weird way. And I think it’s- because, to the fae, _everything_ can be alive. Every idea, every dream, every abstraction can be given life and organs and anatomy- and- the hospital _knew_ that. We weren’t healing bones, we were healing _abstractions,_ so- everything had to have the capacity to be alive. The hospital wasn’t for us- it was for them. It wasn’t just healing physical bodies, their concept of anatomy had to had space for- _more._

The thing is- they had such a strange definition of alive, I… I wasn’t sure I even counted sometimes? Artificiality became such a blurry concept. Sure, we had flesh and blood and brains, too- but- so did the _machines_ . So did the needles, so did the lights- I mean, I- I- I _worked_ with the machines. I put the cogs into place, I lined the circuit boards- but- everything I touched was so _warm._ Even while I’m out here, I still expect them to _breathe_ sometimes, to- _gurgle_ . There’s this- saturday morning cartoon trope, you know? Where the heroes only really do battle with robots, because you can show robots getting their limbs torn off and oozing out oil and wires. But it- it doesn’t feel gruesome, because it doesn’t feel like it’s a _person._ So you can- so you can sit in your denial, and it’s- _okay_ , and-

I- ask myself why I’m not a Chirurgeon, sometimes?

I don’t-

I don’t- I can’t think, I can’t even think about-”

_At this point, subject becomes distracted and can not continue. The tape recorder is shut off, and we resume later._

“-Sorry. Sorry, I just- Where was I? 

_Right,_ so-- I think- I think he saw _us_ as the puppets, sometimes? Not necessarily in an uncaring way, but like… we were dolls. Half-alive, and- delicate, but… valuable. That’s the worst part, I think. Even as he seemed- incapable of understanding what kind of _alive_ we were, I… think he cared about us. He wanted to heal us, but- he didn’t understand human anatomy like he did fae anatomy. He didn’t understand what healing _was_ . All he knew is that it involved- _scalpels_ , and _knives_ , and that humans had invented safe ways that you could pry people open to see what they were made of, so- he didn’t- understand why _he_ couldn’t, either.

We were- We were never alive enough for him. Not in the right way. Not in the ways he needed us to be. He kept prying us open, hoping to understand. I watched him give orders to- to _corpses,_ and- I- I- for some reason, I remember being _surprised_ none of them ever talked back.

I don’t think I’d recognize a dead body if I saw one anymore...”


	3. The Joiner

**“The Joiner”**

_ Testimony given by an elemental going by A _ _ ████ _ _. Subject has been diagnosed with selective mutism, and his testimony was gathered carefully, over a long period of time. Entity described as being an inhabitant of a location on file as “The Antebellum House”, or, alternatively, “The Breathing House”.  _

_ Audio transcript begins. _

“I... met her house before I met her. It looked like- one of those plantation houses, with the big open lawn, and the porch lined with greek pillars? I mean, it was this… This  _ gorgeous  _ emerald mansion, with tall, trimmed bushes, and a proud walkway. Of course, I didn’t know that- I didn’t  _ know _ yet. I didn’t… I didn’t  _ know _ ...”

_ Subject trails off, and does not continue. Tape shuts off, and then resumes an unknown amount of time later. _

“...I heard her more than I saw her, but- that was more about me, and where she  _ put  _ me, than it was about her. I remember- when I  _ did  _ lay eyes on her, everything about her was  _ big.  _ Big hair, big sleeves, big skirt, big smile- her… Her presence cast such a  _ long _ shadow over that house. At first, I thought the rattling that accompanied her must be her footsteps- but- I know  _ now _ that her feet never touched the ground. She had me facing the wall, and- I only could only really safely look  _ down,  _ you see. Her shoes were this… this elegant shade of arsenic green. I could only… I could only look d…”

_ Subject has gone still. Tape shuts off. Tape resumes. _

“There were these… elaborate banquets. She was always- eager, I think, to… show off the house. It was her prized possession, her central treasure, and… having Others over was sort-of her way to express that? Or- maybe to lord it over them, I couldn’t tell. More True Fae passed through those doors than I ever knew. I- don’t have descriptions of any of them, s-sorry. I was... mostly in a position to eavesdrop, and most of it has faded away by now. I’ll… I’ll let you know if I think of anything, though.

She had the most... pleasant voice you could imagine. There was something  _ more  _ about that voice, something… Like it was  _ more  _ than just her speaking. It reminded me of my mother- or, my teachers? Or that officer I talked to one time… Maybe it was- just  _ authority?  _ As if she spoke with every authority that ever was. She could  _ afford  _ to speak gently, because it didn’t  _ matter  _ how she said it,  _ everything  _ was saying it with her. The walls of  _ society  _ were speaking with her. I can’t- I can’t stop thinking about that. There was nothing necessarily  _ forceful  _ about the way she commanded me, but- it was as if her voice came with every wall that I had ever known, every rule I’d ever followed, and- 

All she said to me was, ‘Hold this’. 

And- and  _ I did. _

Oh  _ god,  _ I  _ did. _

I did, and I didn’t move for- for what must have been  _ decades,  _ I didn’t move or breathe or  _ decades  _ because-- somehow, it would have been too  _ rude  _ not too!? With one word she cast this- this- this  _ creeping, horrible stillness _ over me, but make no mistake when I say it was  _ voluntary.  _ I  _ chose  _ it. Do you understand? There was never a transformation, there was never a wave of her hand and I became  _ furniture,  _ I was  _ human the whole time.  _ Choosing her, choosing not to speak, choosing  _ stillness-  _ Choosing to be  _ nothing- Choosing to be nothing-” _

_ Subject can not continue. Tape goes quiet for a long time. When the audio starts up again, it sounds as if his voice was caught in the middle of a sentence. _

“-She was _so proud_ of her house, but- but it wasn’t really _hers._ You can own a vase, you can own a painting, but this was- this was _people._ How do you trace a line around everything a person is and call it yours? Every thought, every memory, every philosophy, every single _possibility,_ every single _thing_ someone is capable of- you can’t- you can’t _own_ that! Every surface, every piece of glamorously carved wood in there was the result of the grinded away effort and life force of every life she had _ever_ stolen, _ever_ pressed into walls and pressed into the shape of chairs, like she- like she _deserved_ it. Like using up peoples lives was some _reward_ for her. The house was _awake. Do you understand?_

So, so, horribly  _ awake.  _

She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve her home. The Joiner could have used her power to make  _ anything,  _ but she made other people join into it  _ first.  _ This woman gathered an audience to listen to her laugh while she gestured proudly to the changelings she made into pillars, desperate not to cry as they hold up the infrastructure to her glamorous lifestyle, and she acted like it was  _ nothing.  _ Because to her, it just- we were _ nothing. _ ”


	4. The Name Merchant

**“The Name Merchant”**

_ Testimony extracted with great difficulty from a darkling who was unable to provide a name. Interview was conducted by allowing the changeling to borrow my face, and my voice. Entity is described as “The Name Merchant”, and is described as having been a traveler between worlds. The changeling has described locations consistent with other realms on file, such as “The Storybook” and “The Breathing House”. _

_ Interviewer's note: this changeling's durance left them with the inability to make "I" statements. As per this document's mission statement, the contents of this interview- such as this particular quirk of word choice- have not been altered.  _

_ Audio transcript begins. _

"You have a name. You have words that are yours. Are you sure you still own all of them, though? You should check- Do you still know what the word 'help' sounds like? It's quiet. It's like air. In the dancing calliope of the World Song, 'help me' is so often a whisper and a smile instead of a scream. 'Help me' can be laughing too loud in the supermarket. 'Help me' can be unbuckling a seat belt, can be carrying around a pack of cigarettes. It's the loudest quiet there is- and it's so, so often in plain sight… 

That's what happens when you take a word away from someone like ‘help’. What happens when you take away the word 'no'? Can any yes be trusted? Words have a life, a soul. When that soul is taken, where do they go? Where do they march off to? You be careful if you follow that path. You be careful, if you go looking for your 'help'... 

The Merchant has been called a reaper of words, by some- but perhaps you think it is better to say collector? The reaper does not stop souls from moving on to the next life, after all. The Merchant is a disruption, not natural at all-- they're where all True Names  _ stop _ . The first time you see the Name Merchant, you may mistake them for a tent. They're adorned in tall, colorful robes, made up of so many people's 'help's and 'no's- capped off at the head with a harlequin mask, surrounded by a lion's mane of cascading paper with the names of the world upon them. You may see hands reaching out from underneath them - but never in consistent places, and always in such fractal, bending ways that do not match with an understanding of human anatomy. They can have two hands, five hands, dozens…. a halo of arms, a scuttling army of hands… they are constantly  _ grabbing,  _ constantly  _ trading _ .

The trades seem so deceptively simple - they're only a word, after all. Only a word! As if the World Song were only a song. The Name Merchant is like a juggler of identities, a magician of names- you put one life under a cup, and watch it dance around back and forth and in and around, and when you lift the cup - lo and behold, your life has transformed before your very eyes! All selves are malleable, all souls can be rippled through funhouse mirrors. It is such an attractive offer, when you have no identity yourself- to be able to buy one, to trade your life for theirs."

_ The sound of rustling. Subject has climbed out of their chair and onto the desk, leaning forward. _

"… Do you like your name? Do people call you by your name, or something else? There are names that turn your mouth into ash, names that spoil your insides- if you're wondering if that's your name in the Song of the World, it is not. You may find that reassuring. Others have. The Song of the World is a circus of truth- it would never devote a single note to a lie. You can dance into the wind, tossing aside a name and identity that feels dead to you, because it's not your real name, it's not a name that means  _ you _ . Oh, how freeing- How wonderful-

You may think that a dead name would be worth trading. You would not be the first clever soul to think such a thing would be worth the gambit. If you had an empty token to claim the world with, wouldn't you? But the Name Merchant can recognize rotten fruit. It curdles in their mouth, it pours out like acid. The Name Merchant is not kind to those who attempt to swindle them- and if you hand them something empty-  _ Oh _ , if you have  _ reason  _ for the carnival to run  _ empty- _

The cups trap themselves over you, and dance around your life. Here’s why magic tricks involve you turning your eyes away. The curtain is a mercy - we were not meant to see the transformation take place. We were not meant to see the distortion rippling through our souls. And all around you, the World Song sings, as merciful, as kindly as the day you heard it-  _ You'll never be yourself again." _


	5. The Architect

**"The Architect"**

_Testimony taken from-_

“Fuck you, lady!”

_-A changeling of indeterminate category, who-_

“Stop fucking following me with that thing, I never _saw_ mine! I don’t ‘got anything to tell you!”

_-Goes by the name D██, describing an entity which will later be dubbed “The Architect”. Like “The Firmament”, it is perfectly possible that this entity was a location all it’s own, but that is only speculation._

_Audio transcript, after some… settling down- resumes._

“-Look, I don’t even know _when_ I got kidnapped. Like, sometimes I think maybe it was sometime in August? But then I remember it _couldn’t_ be, not when I went talking to Rodney about that St. Patts party in March and he didn't know what the _fuck_ I was on about- I mean- I- I’m never certain when it _started!_ I’m not even certain it’s ended, to be honest? How do I know if I’m out? How can I really be _sure?_ I can’t do routine anymore, settling down long enough for things to be familiar gets dangerous. I mean, your face is new to me, and that's reassuring to my head full of neuroses- but my reality got replaced _once,_ y’know? How do I be certain it won’t happen again?

I never met my keeper, but if I did, you better fuckin’ bet I’d have some questions for the bastard. Mostly, just- _why?_ Why me? Why make a shrine to _my_ life? Am I that god damn special? I mean, I don’t know what the fuck True Fae are capable of, what’s easy for them and what isnt- but it had to have taken _effort,_ right? When I was taken, they went through and _reconstructed_ my _entire_ world. My apartment, with all the stains in the carpet, the cracks and potholes in the street, my god damn _cat_ , my friends faces and their laughs and- It- was so _seamless_ , okay? 

I... never even noticed being _taken?_

I mean, okay, I- noticed _eventually_ . After a while, things began to… Run out. The reconstructed world must’ve been locked into the same state it was when I got taken, like- running on fumes you know? And- it was only the parts I’d seen before. I noticed after a while- just- how _hard_ it was to meet new people. No one had any new things to say. All the conversations were just these echoed repeats. I went trespassing and found too many empty buildings to be explained by some, goddamn, bullshit economic crisis. I remember smashing up my neighbors windows, looking for- for something _more_ than first floor furniture, getting more and more desperate because no one seemed to have family _photos_ anymore?

I- I- only got wise that something was _up_ because the world started falling apart around me, you know? The fucker ran out of new material. The cracks got wider as I kept squirming and moving around and just- went on _changing_ without it. I don’t know what I would have done if my keeper had bothered to _update_ it. I might honestly have never noticed.

It’s just- What it _did_ to my friends voices- To- To my _family,_ to my _mom_ -

I- _fuck_ . It was torture. Utter _torture_ to watch them all slowly go blank, to think I must be losing my _mind_ . How do you explain that subtle uncertainty, that everything is _wrong_ somehow? That none of it- Nothing- Nothing around you, on a _cosmic level,_ is even real!? I even thought I had that Capgras thing for a while, but- when I googled it for more information, all the pages came back blank. And- all the people were fake, but- _god,_ their concern felt so _real._ My mother- she cried when I tried to tell her, cried like the day dad died. I hated to do that to her. People I didn’t grow up with, people I’d- never really _known_ well, to be frank- they all just went so _infuriatingly blank_ when I went screaming. Grabbing shit off the walls and smashing plates in an open supermarket and everyone’s just _staring!_ Just staring at me! But not staring like I’m crazy, like I’m the _air!_

I only became convinced I was right when I hopped in the car and went barreling out into the open road. I loaded the back seat up with canisters of gas and just _went._ Just _drove_ as far as I could, as fast as I could, out to god knows where. The sky stayed the same, but- but the landscape just kept getting white. Blank. At some point, time stopped passing, because the sky stayed suspended in the sharp day.

I think- I think I _did_ speak to my keeper, maybe once, because the radio kept asking me what I was doing. _“Where are you going?” “Why are you leaving?”_ Maybe I should have talked back. Maybe I would’a had more answers. But, in the moment, I was just too pissed at whatever God had damned me to live in their empty Matrix ripoff, and I flipped the radio off. I exited Arcadia plummeting down from a highway, with broken glass in my hair, and bent ribs, but I’ll take the crash any day because it was fucking _real._ ”


	6. The Gorge-Meister

**“The Gorge-Meister”**

_Testimony given by an ogre going by G_ _█████_ _. Entity is described as being an inhabitant of “The Forever Halloween”. Current status of entity is... Dubious, if this testimony is to be believed._

_Audio transcript begins._

“I think he grabbed me because I didn’t listen to the sign, and took more than one piece of candy. - _Okay,_ the whole bowl. But it’s not like it was attached to a house or anything! It was just left out in the woods, out on a tree stump. If I didn’t eat it, the squirrels would’ve, or maybe Jackie would have gotten there first and we had a bet and there was no _way_ I was giving it to her! Why do people hate kids for being selfish, anyway? Being selfish is awesome! What else are kids gonna do except be selfi- are you going to finish that?”

_Tape resumes seconds later, after subject has downed my entire lunch._

“I fell into Arcadia through the back of my trick or treat basket. It’s weird, I guess I never thought grandma’s pillows had a secret world in them? Mom said she died in that bed, so it makes sense. I’ve been to a lot of graveyards since then- all the zombies and ghoulies and fun stuff emerge there, so I guess it adds up for things to be touched by death to be portals? Grandma’s cloth was sorta raggedy but it was the biggest one we had, so of course I took it! I didn’t _know_ he’d grab me through it. This green hand covered in boils, grabbing me by the hair dragging me through it’s candied mouth-

And that was the first time I met the Gorge-Meister! The second time was on my way out, but the people of the Forever Halloween were _always_ whispering about him. They said he was some kind of monster sculptor, a hungry king of beasts, an overlord that was all mouths. Supposedly, every monster of the Forever Halloween was either created by him, or bowed to him. I don’t really know- the Gorge-Meister ruled me candy, not flesh, so I was too busy outrunning the monsters to chat much. Everything was- so _hungry._ So, so, sosososo hungry. Including me!

I had no teeth, at first. The Gorge-Meister had stolen them when he pulled me into taffy. The monsters had jaws made for crushing, though, and they were _all_ around, _always_ biting. But I was hungry too, and it’s not fair that I’m the only thing that gets eaten. So I moved quick! And I tied them down. And I crawled inside their mouths and _yanked_. And when I was finished and had my pile full of treasure, I pulled a gummy worm from the earth, and smooshed it into my face so the fangs wouldn’t fall out and _now_ I was a real problem, because the king didn't like that at all.

I got captured. Too many teeth stolen, they said! You can’t just chomp your way up the food chain, they cried! The monsters presented me to him on a plate and that’s when I saw him, _really_ saw. The Gorge-Meister. My mom had this tattoo- this giant snake, looped in an O shape as it turned and chomped it’s own tail. The king of monsters was like that, but no tail- only mouths and mouths and mouths and _mouths_ . He looked like a doughnut of teeth! And he was _angry_ that I refused to be a meal.

So I did what anyone would. I ate. 

I bared my stolen teeth and I _chomped_ him. And I _ate_ . And I _gnashed_ . And I _chomped._ And as I did I grew more mouths and they _chomped_ too. Maybe it wouldn't have worked if he wasn't a being of hunger. Maybe it wouldn't have worked if I wasn't so hungry! God’s flesh tore beneath my jaw and filled my mouths like a squirming jelly doughnut! Taffy muscles and sour syrup veins and peanut brittle bones snapped and snapped and snapped and _snapped_ , and for the first time since I’d seen the sun, I could feel that cavity insite my stomach getting full. I know he survived, though- because I could _feel_ the Gorge-Meister. He was in me, writhing inside of my guts, pathetic and small and in too many chewy pieces to be a person, much less a king.

Maybe I would have been the new Gorge-Meister, if I had stayed? Worn the cavity crown, molded monsters out of fondant so that they could fill my belly, grown mouths and mouths and mouths and _mouths_ \- The king that chomps the last king becomes the new king and it’s just hunger and eating and hunger and _eating-_ He was dying and I was full, but the _hunger_ stayed alive somehow! Hunger over nations, hunger over cosmos! Monsters bowed and I could devour the whole banquet of Halloween-

But, to be honest, I kinda missed my mom. 

Also, I never liked playing princess? Royalty is no fun, Too many rules. And I had definitely won the bet with Jackie by now, if you count an entire candy dimension for the haul. So instead, I turned my monster teeth onto the hedge, and ate my way through until I was home.”


End file.
